Free Peeler by Kevin McCarthy

should be dead by rights, shouldn’t I, Sergeant? I should consider myself lucky.’
    Lucky, O’Keefe thought. The woman was right: some-times it wasn’t the ones who lived who were lucky. But the woman had her son; that was something.
    ‘I’m here because I found a young woman on a hillside yesterday.’
    ‘A girl on a hillside. Not so lucky then, was she?’
    He looked hard at her. ‘No. She was dead. Left there exposed for anyone to see. Someone had hurt her too, Mrs Sheehan. And I want to find the men who hurt her – who murdered her.’
    ‘And you think it might be the same men?’
    ‘I’ve no idea. But I’ve nothing else to go on.’
    ‘And so you thought you’d start with me.’
    ‘I thought there might be a connection. The Volunteers don’t usually harm women.’
    ‘Making me one of the lucky few.’
    It occurred to O’Keefe then that the woman might be unhinged. The loss of her husband’s sanity, of her livelihood, the violation she’d suffered – these had been just enough to bear without the likes of him coming into her house and asking her to relive it all.
    ‘How many men were there, Mrs Sheehan? You could help me.’
    She stood and walked over to the range, taking a pan from one of the cold rings and placing it in a basin of water on the floor. Then she turned back abruptly to face O’Keefe. Her voice wavered.
    ‘Two men. Do you know how to pierce a pig’s nose, Sergeant?’
    ‘I –’
    ‘You take a long needle and you scorch it against infection. Did you know that? But sure, a pig’s worth more than the likes of me. They didn’t bother with the scorching.’
    ‘Mrs Sheehan –’
    ‘And then you hold the pig down, Sergeant. Two men, sometimes three for a big sow, one that fights, and drive that needle through the flesh, just run it out the other side so there’s a clean hole for to hang the ring.’
    She was growing frantic. O’Keefe felt the same at times and his heart could bled for her. He stood up.
    ‘Mrs Sheehan, you don’t have to –’
    ‘Why don’t you call me Kate, Sergeant? Those boys did, when they held me down and put a needle through the flesh of my backside. Kate , they said, you like that, Kate? You need to do what you’re fucking told, first time round, Kate , they said.’
    The anger left her then and she started to weep. She gathered her apron in her hands and covered her face.
    ‘Mrs Sheehan …’
    ‘Go,’ she said. ‘They’re not the same men at all. Away with you, out of my house.’
    There was nothing he could do for her at that moment. He looked to her husband then, still unmoved, eyes closed, a thin tracery of spittle on his chin reflecting the firelight. O’Keefe left her with her memories, closing the cottage door gently behind him, her demons still loose and roving the hills and villages. She has her son at least, he thought, kicking the Trusty to life, adjusting his helmet and goggles. She’d keep going for him. But what did he himself have? What hope? A meagre one at best – catch the bastards who had killed the girl and left her on the hillside. Maybe find the men who had hurt Katherine Sheehan. Show the woman that justice hadn’t gone entirely from Ireland. It had just lost its way for a time.
    ***
    Liam Farrell went to O’Sullivan’s cowsheds to sleep, but found it impossible. Despite his promotion to Intelligence under the command of Seán Brennan, his gut still ached at his expulsion from the flying column. In the sheds he listened to the preparations the men around him were making in the lantern-light – cleaning rifles and loading rounds into magazines, smoking, chatting, giddy with anticipation of combat. Three young men said the Rosary. When he could take it no longer, he got up and sat by a friend of his from home.
    Diarmuid O’Shea looked up at him. ‘Well, Liam, heard you’re in with the bossmen now. First feckin’ off to college and now joining the top dogs at the table. Secret missions and all, boy.’
    Farrell